


Gloves

by junojelli



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 19:00:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20363494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junojelli/pseuds/junojelli
Summary: ‘Well, if we get time off when we get back I’ll get you a new pair.’ You quirked up the corners of your mouth in a smile at him, your eyes darting down to your lap. He was such a good boy, such a good friend. When you looked up, his eyes were stilled glued to your face, his hands holding yours and gripping them gently.A post-Belgium ficlet, where Babe Heffron is concerned over your lack of gloves.





	Gloves

**Author's Note:**

> Please keep in mind everything you see here is about the fictional portrayal of characters in HBO war miniseries and their actors, not the historical figures themselves, with no disrespect intended towards them or their legacy.

The sky was grey with low hanging clouds that were trying their best to unleash a small blizzard upon the town below. It seemed as if after the past two months, the heavens were also tired from the incessant snowing and so all that they produced was some pitiful sleet. It was a small mercy, y/n thought, head tilted to the sky as she plonked themselves down on the hard, wooden bench on the truck. Fellow paratroopers tiredly spilled out of the small church where they had spent the night, and limped toward the trucks promising to take them off the line for their long-awaited respite. Respite that had been rudely interrupted when the German army had broken through the lines in the Ardennes last year. Every trooper was exhausted, weary, and cold.

The night in the convent had been the first night indoors in months. The soft glow of the candlelight, the sound of the choir, and some actual food had given the troopers some semblance of warmth in their souls after going through hell. The company had a new CO and (for all of his infamous reputation) it had been proven that he was an effective combat leader who cared about his troops and their welfare. Speirs had rounded up the trucks at dawn and had given orders for Easy Company to move out, back to France for some R&R. Luz and Lipton had been given some boxes to distribute amongst the trucks – blankets, a few packs of Lucky Strikes and some K rations that their new CO had been able to pilfer from somewhere for the journey out.

The clanking of other soldiers climbing up on the truck brought y/n out of her musings, as various members of second platoon shoved on to the trucks, helmets and gear dumped on the floor as bottoms got settled on the bench. Y/n ended up somewhat sandwiched between Chuck Grant who got to work divvying up one of the ration packs, and a very pale, exhausted Babe Heffron. Babe, whilst not an original Toccoa man was treated as such after the action he had seen in the Bois Jacques. As a fellow Philly boy, Guarnere had taken him under his wing back in Aldbourne and had mentored him through Holland, only for Bill and Joe Toye to be hit. Babe had also lost a replacement who he in turn had mentored, and that had hit him hard. It seemed the only two people who could make a marginal improvement to Babe’s mood were y/n and Doc Roe.

Looking over at Babe as he jiggled about in the confined space trying to get comfy, you could see the dark shadows under his eyes, the translucence of his pale Irish skin that made his veins seem even more blue. The man, who was little more than a boy when you had first met back in the summer seemed far older than his years, but then again you all did. Kicking his legs out and leaning back on the side of the truck he tucked his face into the knot of his scarf in an attempt to warm his red nose.

Lip and George jumped on to your truck, and fished out the blankets from the bottom of the box and tossed a couple along the truck bed to where you sat. Some gentle cheers went up as the guys opened the blankets and stretched them across your laps to keep some warmth in for the long ride ahead. After some gentle petty squabbling about who was hogging the blanket (Chuck), and who didn’t want to touch someone else’s feet (Liebgott), everyone settled down as a pack of Luckies were passed around. Grabbing one and stashing it for later on in the ride, you tapped Babe’s arm with the back of your hand catching his attention as you passed the packet across to him, your frigid fingers touching his as he gripped the packet from you, took a cigarette out and passed it on.

‘God, y/n. Your hands are freezing.’ His sudden concern was sweet and touching, it reminded you of the eager young man he had been back in England. He stuffed the smoke in his breast pocket and turned towards you slightly, his own dirty hands gently reaching across to hold one of yours, sandwiching it between his two rough palms and just holding them there.

‘What happened to your gloves?’

You sniffed and shrugged; you last had your gloves in Foy, but had not seen them since Noville a few days ago. You couldn’t remember where they had gone.

‘I lost them.’

‘You’ve gotta look after your hands y/n, can’t have you getting frostbite.’ He gently rubbed his hands over your own, the friction starting to warm your frozen skin.

‘I know, I’ve been trying to get them moving, I just have bad circulation.’ He looked at you with concern, his other hand reaching across to hold your other one which still remained frigid,

‘Well, if we get time off when we get back I’ll get you a new pair.’ You quirked up the corners of your mouth in a smile at him, your eyes darting down to your lap. He was such a good boy, such a good friend. When you looked up, his eyes were stilled glued to your face, his hands holding yours and gripping them gently. The truck jolted and rumbled as it set off, further down the bench you heard Luz yell at some passing soldiers about ‘crapping in your foxholes’. You held his gaze until Babe’s eyes flickered to just beyond your face.

‘Grant, feel how cold her hands are.’ Chuck reached across to feel your cold skin.

‘Shit, y/n, where are your gloves?’

‘She lost ‘em. Warm up that one, will ya?’ Chuck got to work warming your other hand using one of his large ones as Babe began to gently rub the hand closest to him. You watched him as he gently massaged some feeling back into your fingers, your nerves tingling at the contact and the butterflies in your stomach fluttering in unison.

‘Thank you, Babe.’

‘Don’t mention it. I’m serious about the gloves, you know.’

You huffed in amusement, your breath fogging in the cool morning air in front of you.

‘And where will you be getting these gloves?’ you arched an eyebrow at him, smirking at his own face as it furrowed. He bit his lip, seeming to concentrate on massaging the fleshy heel of your palm. He leaned away slightly, fishing around in one of the numerous pockets of his BDUs and pulled out a crusty pair of dark cotton gloves.

‘Oh, well, I suppose if we got a pass to Paris or wherever, I’d get you some of those nice lined deerskin ones. My brothers had some back in Philly that they had gotten up in New York one time. I always wanted a pair.’ He shook out gloves with his free hand, and started to thread them over your fingertips.

‘Babe, no. These are yours; you need gloves too.’

‘No. My mother raised me right, I wont wear them whilst your hands are cold, y/n.’

He looked at you gravely as you huffed once more, another cloud of mist hanging in the air in front of your faces.

‘Babe.’

‘Y/n.’

Babe grabbed your other hand from Chuck and started to firmly thread it on. His facial expression was serious, you knew you wouldn’t win this argument. You sighed and closed your eyes, a small wave of tiredness washing over your mind. You had no fight left in you. You opened your eyes when you felt him hold your near hand again, threading your fingers through with his own.

‘Well, as long as you let me get some of those fancy gloves from Paris for you too, Babe.’

A lightness flickered in his eye as he softly smiled at you and stretched his arm over side of the truck and around your shoulders. He pulled you to lean into against him. You settled down, smiling as you snuggled in to his shoulder. His jacket smelt like gunpowder and mud. With your eyes closed you thought you could smell the lingering traces of whatever aftershave he had worn back in Mourmelon when the guys had gone out on the town, but that was just a silly thought. None of you had showered since early December, it was your sleepy brain bringing back nice memories.

You felt his head tilt against your own, as he pulled the blanket further up your lap to keep you warm.

‘Sleep. Ill wake you.’

The last thing you remembered was mumbling a thank you at him as you drifted off, ignoring the jerking motion of the slow-moving trucks and enjoying a lightness in your chest that hadn’t been there for some time.

* * *

‘They’re totally screwing…’ Jackson nudged a tired looking Liebgott and nodded over at the two troopers sitting across from them. Joe scowled and looked at Babe who was smoking his cigarette that Luz had lit for him. His left arm was still hooked around y/n’s shoulder, as she slept against him, gently swaying with the movement of the truck. She looked peaceful for once, they both did. They got on well in each other’s company, that’s why Doc Roe had been sure to put y/n in Heffron’s foxhole after they had lost Webb.

Joe tiredly looked back over to Jackson who waggled his eyebrows at him.

‘Fucks sake, Eugene.’

Luz leaned forward and waved his hand in front of Babe’s face, catching his attention.

‘So…you’re just going to buy y/n some gloves, then? From Paris?’

Babe frowned at George, not catching his meaning. ‘Yeah, she lost hers. Her hands are cold.’

Luz raised his eyebrows and gave a small shrug of his shoulders, his mouth pulling down in a comical frown. He leaned in closer to Babe, but still within earshot of most of the truck bed.

‘You know…you could get her something else to go on her hand other than gloves when you get to Paris. She might like that.’ George tried to give his meaning by waggling the fingers on his left hand on Babe’s knee next to him. Heffron stared at his fingers and then looked up blankly at George.

‘Im not sure if she’d prefer mittens.’

A loud snicker came from Lipton, who descended into another round of hacking coughs as the truck bounced through another pothole on the road away from the front.


End file.
